Saturday, August 04, 2007
The Great Mini-Saga Face-Off
The hidden message in my last post, which none of you halfwits managed to decipher without considerable prompting, was that I'm buggering off for a few months. I did, however, promise to post your Mini-Saga contributions, and so, before I disappear, here they are. Seven fine examples of the art, I'm sure you'll agree; but who wrote them?
I was going to make this a multiple-choice sort of exercise but that would be far too easy. So: there are at least three but no more than seven (obviously) authors represented below. Who are they? And which story is by whom? Answers in a comment or an email, please, and I'll hold you up to adulation or ridicule in due course. Oh, and anyone may take a stab, even if you've contributed yourself and can therefore identify your own authorship with accuracy (well, one would hope so).
Also, don't blame me for the dark tone of these tales. I never said they had to be about domestic violence, assassination, creepy Santas and so on. I reflect reality, I don't influence it.
I was going to make this a multiple-choice sort of exercise but that would be far too easy. So: there are at least three but no more than seven (obviously) authors represented below. Who are they? And which story is by whom? Answers in a comment or an email, please, and I'll hold you up to adulation or ridicule in due course. Oh, and anyone may take a stab, even if you've contributed yourself and can therefore identify your own authorship with accuracy (well, one would hope so).
Also, don't blame me for the dark tone of these tales. I never said they had to be about domestic violence, assassination, creepy Santas and so on. I reflect reality, I don't influence it.
Stray Cat
Mother watched daughter lovingly though the kitchen window. The girl shuffled along and waited, allowing the tabby to get closer. When the cat paused for too long, the girl offered an invisible treat. They entered the kitchen together and gazed into mother's eyes longingly.
'Mommy,' she said. 'I gots dinner.'
The Sacrifice
He braced himself against an outcrop. Her wrist slipped further from his grasp.
‘Let me go,’ she gasped. ‘Save yourself.’
Imagine her life without me: evenings curled on the settee, tea and tears and indifferent cat for company, my photograph on the mantelpiece...
Eyes brimming compassionately, he released his grip.
He braced himself against an outcrop. Her wrist slipped further from his grasp.
‘Let me go,’ she gasped. ‘Save yourself.’
Imagine her life without me: evenings curled on the settee, tea and tears and indifferent cat for company, my photograph on the mantelpiece...
Eyes brimming compassionately, he released his grip.
God's Wrath
"Armageddon!" he gurgled, on his knees vomiting blood. Green bile streamed from his ears. Ten feet away a young woman exploded sending bits of flesh, bone and gore flying. A small boy doubled over and projected gallons of fecal matter everywhere.
I couldn't believe this. These were my new shoes!
Bad News
She wasn't sure how to put it. David was an old friend but he wasn't acting as a man in his elevated position ought. She'd have to wing it, run on autopilot. Biting her lip she left the cockpit.
How do you tell a flight attendant you think he's straight?
Sweets for the Sweet
'Hurry up and get in here, you miserable old whore,' the mad bastard with no taste buds shouted. 'And bring some of those extra large Tootsie Rolls, too.'
'I’ll be there in just a minute, dear,' she replied, gingerly touching her black eye. 'Just need to scoop the litter box.'
Father Christmas
He rested his bag between tree and chimney, took a cookie, and quietly walked to the boy's room. Finishing the treat, he smiled at the sleeping child. This was a good boy. He would say nothing. The reindeer and deliveries could wait.
He dropped his pants and climbed into bed.
Decision Time
Rodriguez’s head was in the crosshairs. I remembered my briefing. They said he’d massacred civilians. He looked young. Probably had a wife, couple of kids. They couldn’t be wrong, though. Couldn’t have made a mistake. They’d done their homework. Still, what if -
I bit my lip, squeezed the trigger.
Rodriguez’s head was in the crosshairs. I remembered my briefing. They said he’d massacred civilians. He looked young. Probably had a wife, couple of kids. They couldn’t be wrong, though. Couldn’t have made a mistake. They’d done their homework. Still, what if -
I bit my lip, squeezed the trigger.
Comments:
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If you managed to decipher the hidden message in my comment to your previous post, you're being uncommonly modest about it.
If you're disappearing from Blogger for a few months, will you come and say hello on Facebook instead?
Firstly.. i don't appreciate you referring to my friends as "halfwits". because i know that statement wasn't aimed at me.. (gufaw)
Secondly, i feel a little cheated.. if i would have known (wouldn't have been a halfwit) i would have submitted a story. i'm giving it away now for anyone reading this that none of these are mine.. or am i.. (dramatic music)
Thirdly, have fun outside the blogosphere. i hope it's a vacation and not something lame like work.
Lastly, i'm going to have to say.. that i think SafeT wrote "God's Wrath" that's the only one i can guess right now.
Secondly, i feel a little cheated.. if i would have known (wouldn't have been a halfwit) i would have submitted a story. i'm giving it away now for anyone reading this that none of these are mine.. or am i.. (dramatic music)
Thirdly, have fun outside the blogosphere. i hope it's a vacation and not something lame like work.
Lastly, i'm going to have to say.. that i think SafeT wrote "God's Wrath" that's the only one i can guess right now.
# posted by 
: 7:23 am
: 7:23 am
Philip: no I didn't, as well you know, otherwise I would have said something. Give me time.
Mr Knudsen: I decoded your comment and it said angels rape arseholes' slippers. Are you taking the piss?
GB: damn - you've read Ms Cartland's A Christmas Tale, then?
Kim: alas, they said I was too ugly for Facebook and I smelt.
SafeT: your scattergun approach isn't as inaccurate as you might think.
Philip: what's with all this 'bastard' and 'bugger' and the like? This isn't the Emerald Bile, you know. As my hit counter will attest to.
Sarah: you're not a halfwit for faling to crack the code. You're a halfwit for failing to read in the comments on my last post but one that I was inviting you to email me your stories.
You could always send me one and I can add it as an update. Most of my readers would be too fuckwitted to work it out.
No, it's not SafeT, but good try.
Mr Knudsen: I decoded your comment and it said angels rape arseholes' slippers. Are you taking the piss?
GB: damn - you've read Ms Cartland's A Christmas Tale, then?
Kim: alas, they said I was too ugly for Facebook and I smelt.
SafeT: your scattergun approach isn't as inaccurate as you might think.
Philip: what's with all this 'bastard' and 'bugger' and the like? This isn't the Emerald Bile, you know. As my hit counter will attest to.
Sarah: you're not a halfwit for faling to crack the code. You're a halfwit for failing to read in the comments on my last post but one that I was inviting you to email me your stories.
You could always send me one and I can add it as an update. Most of my readers would be too fuckwitted to work it out.
No, it's not SafeT, but good try.
First me thought 'The Sacrifice' am Andraste, 'Sweets for the Sweet' am Sarah and 'Decision Time' am Safe-t.... but then me think 'The Sacrifice' am Kim, 'Sweets for the Sweet' am Andraste... oh fuck it... did me do them all under the influence?
All right, all right; I'll tell you.
Stray Cat: this is Monstee's. What kind of being eats cats? He must be Korean. Oh, hang on, that's dogs.
The Sacrifice: by yours truly, Foot Eater. It's cribbed from an old short story by, I think, Dylan Thomas.
God's Wrath: SheBah, your point is well-made, but unfortunately you're wrong. Monstee raises his hairy blue head again, and reveals himself to be something of a shoe-lover, in a weird drag queen way.
Bad News: who could have written this but the utterly endearing Sam, Problem-Child-Bride? It's funny, concise and yet warm-hearted, with no trace of the rank unwholesomeness that characterises the rest of this sordid exercise. The baton is herewith passed to you, Sam. Produce at least four more of these before I come back in December or there'll be trouble.
Sweets for the Sweet: this touching portrayal of flawed yet loving family life is by Andraste, from whose own blog I blatantly robbed it. In mitigation, I hope to send some traffic her way. She has a uniquely no-bullshit take on everyday life that's worth far more than the £7.50 you pay for a shot of morning espresso in most London cafes these days.
I'm getting too soppy and nice.
Father Christmas: fucking disgusting Monstee penned this revolting and highly morally dubious squirt of literary excrescence, and caused me to mix my metaphors into the bargain. I felt sick posting this, and have to have a lye bath every time I read it. I'm tempted to email this story to Brian Aldiss and ask if he realises what he started.
Decision Time: now this was a conundrum. An anonymous personage emailed it to me and it was so slick, I saved it till last, and emailed my correspondent back asking for details of his/her identity. 'Anonymous' wouldn't play ball at first, but I worked out who she/he was and confronted him/her, and got a confirmatory confession.
I leave you to guess, if you can be bothered, who this is. It's someone you probably know, and who's been here before but is now choosing to operate under cover.
That's all for now, my friends.
If you feel watched in the dark of night, trust your feelings.
And never, ever, think you can keep anything hidden from me.
Stray Cat: this is Monstee's. What kind of being eats cats? He must be Korean. Oh, hang on, that's dogs.
The Sacrifice: by yours truly, Foot Eater. It's cribbed from an old short story by, I think, Dylan Thomas.
God's Wrath: SheBah, your point is well-made, but unfortunately you're wrong. Monstee raises his hairy blue head again, and reveals himself to be something of a shoe-lover, in a weird drag queen way.
Bad News: who could have written this but the utterly endearing Sam, Problem-Child-Bride? It's funny, concise and yet warm-hearted, with no trace of the rank unwholesomeness that characterises the rest of this sordid exercise. The baton is herewith passed to you, Sam. Produce at least four more of these before I come back in December or there'll be trouble.
Sweets for the Sweet: this touching portrayal of flawed yet loving family life is by Andraste, from whose own blog I blatantly robbed it. In mitigation, I hope to send some traffic her way. She has a uniquely no-bullshit take on everyday life that's worth far more than the £7.50 you pay for a shot of morning espresso in most London cafes these days.
I'm getting too soppy and nice.
Father Christmas: fucking disgusting Monstee penned this revolting and highly morally dubious squirt of literary excrescence, and caused me to mix my metaphors into the bargain. I felt sick posting this, and have to have a lye bath every time I read it. I'm tempted to email this story to Brian Aldiss and ask if he realises what he started.
Decision Time: now this was a conundrum. An anonymous personage emailed it to me and it was so slick, I saved it till last, and emailed my correspondent back asking for details of his/her identity. 'Anonymous' wouldn't play ball at first, but I worked out who she/he was and confronted him/her, and got a confirmatory confession.
I leave you to guess, if you can be bothered, who this is. It's someone you probably know, and who's been here before but is now choosing to operate under cover.
That's all for now, my friends.
If you feel watched in the dark of night, trust your feelings.
And never, ever, think you can keep anything hidden from me.
It's El Barbudo. Even if he hadn't been found guilty of being Kim Ayres and maliciously rumoured (by me) to be Noreen, the Spanish gives it away. Furthermore, I happen to know (you can deny this until you're Rondo Hatton, but I do happen to know) that he's been posting here in the personae of several of your repressed secondary personalities, all cunningly disguised with your own blogonym.
"She has a uniquely no-bullshit take on everyday life that's worth far more than the £7.50 you pay for a shot of morning espresso in most London cafes these days."
Why Footie! I'm touched! But then, you knew that.
Thanks for the kind words. My little blog has been undergoing an identity crisis of late and I needed that. You're just...sniff...a doll...
Catch you on the flip side, babe.
Why Footie! I'm touched! But then, you knew that.
Thanks for the kind words. My little blog has been undergoing an identity crisis of late and I needed that. You're just...sniff...a doll...
Catch you on the flip side, babe.
actually, that's brilliant. Thank you. I'm going to pass that on to a couple of people.
# posted by : 3:17 pm
: 3:17 pm
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